Three Months Cursed
by mugglesque
Summary: John Smith's a writer who writes as passionately as he travels. He's in New York with money to spend but no imagination. When the new neighbors bring good fortune to his writing and life, does it come at a price? Human Nature/Family of Blood AU. John Smith/Ten/Rose, Jack
1. Chapter 1

Preface

Three walls are covered by bookcases. Each bookcase has its shelves, nearly to the ceiling. Most of the bookshelves are stuffed to the brim with science, maths, history, and everything in between. Other shelves have two layers of paperback science fiction, and it still isn't enough. Books are literally everywhere, from the coffee table to the side of the cushioned armchair to small towers under the windows. The skyscrapers outside are a match for the book-towers. This is the most center room of the apartment recently occupied by John Smith.

Well, not really.

John Smith sits at a small desk adjacent to the largest window in the most center room, his hands folded casually behind his head. He runs his hands through his (very brown) hair- in a habit that he's had since he can remember- leaving it far from immaculate.

It's autumn now, or nearly, because central park is already turning those absurd and vibrant colors he loves. The sun still rises high in the sky to highlight the flaming trees.

He expects winter to come early.

This apartment has been his for nearly a week and it's beginning to feel like home, partially from the clutter of books that trail behind him and mostly because of the relative quiet that he gets from this high-rise space.

There's only one other apartment on this floor, and he wants to meet the neighbor, but today doesn't feel like the day to do just that. Neither does tomorrow, really.

He's seen her in the hallway, this neighbor. She's young and pretty and he can't help pining after her just a bit because she seems amiable and just bursting with enigma.

He really does like New York, but the sheer mass of people in such a small area is mind-boggling. Hailing from the upmost bits of Scotland, New York is… a change. A Big Change, all capitalized for emphasis. He thinks of calling his new novel this.

He reconsiders instantly and instead decides to eat something.

Moments later, and he's annoyed to find that his banana supply is empty.

Bugger.

Author's Note: Confused? Next chapter will be up soon.


	2. The Lost, The Helpless and The Wreckless

A Short First Chapter

A/N: I don't know all that much about healthy sugars versus unhealthy sugars, nor do I truly make an effort to really explain things so well. Sorry about that, preemptively. As well as my lack of britishisms.

Of course they were running.

Run for your life this, run back, run away, an awful lot of running to do. But it didn't feel like running now, Rose Tyler just felt lost.

Grant it, at the moment, she wasn't physically running at all.

She tried relaxing into the couch that she hadn't gotten used to for over a year, a comfortable and soft piece of furniture. Smooth like the rest of the room- supposed to be like the TARDIS.

No comforting hum.

The TARDIS had helped them (her and Jack) to get the apartments, something Rose was thankful for, because really now, it was pretty luxurious. Whenever they hid, it was in dark, cramped places to *hide*, but this was much different. She saw his message that he left her, the list of twenty-three rules to follow, while he was less himself than usual.

She wanted to blame him- wanted to blame him so much for this- but that was just it, wasn't it? It wasn't his fault, and she'd never want to leave him for the world.

"What's on your mind, Rosie?"

She left behind her thoughts to respond to Jack. She peered up at him in a way that she hoped would be answer enough. Everything was crashing in one way or another- crashing here, crashing into the Doctor in the hall, crashing into acceptance- and she was simply tired.

"Everything. I'm tired, Jack. It's only been a week and I can barely do this. I see why he's so afraid of domestics- Jack, I'm afraid of domestics. I want to get back out there, already. A week!"

Her voice rose with each word that passed her lips and she had nearly shouted the last one.

Jack was already sitting next to her by the time she finished her weary explanation. A comforting arm (though not the Doctor's) wrapped around her shoulders, and she sank into his embrace.

"Rose, it's alright." The captain let out a deep sigh as he looked down at her. He'd try to be the man she needed, but there was no way he could ever fill his place. The only man that could had a slight memory problem at the moment.

"I'm sorry Jack, it's just- sometimes... I don't know... I feel like I couldn't ever go back to a normal life after this. Like I've become too much like him. And-" her breath caught as she tried to pull away half-heartedly,"well, maybe I am. I wouldn't change it for the world, Jack. Never, ever." She looked up at him with a watery smile, her expression far from waning.

"It's okay Rose. Maybe we should get out, _explore_ this town. I haven't been here in ages, myself. What d'ya say then? Up for an adventure?" He tried his best to imitate the Doctor's accent on the last bit, fishing to elicit a real smile.

_Yeah_, she thought, _just maybe._

"Alright," she's hesitant but agreeable, "but I'm gonna make a cuppa first. Want one?"

They sit and drink tea and she thinks that roaming about the city may be just what the Doctor ordered.

Central Park really is beautiful, she thinks. They've been gone for well over a half an hour, and it's a lovely place. It's filled to the brim with children and worried parents, but she really is enjoying the colors she's seeing. Winding paths twisting to mould to the terrain and obstacles. It reminds her of all of those strange places they visit, and it's not a mournful thought now. Jack's sitting with her on the banged up park bench, and she knows, oh, she knows how he's trying not to act worried or bothered by any of the events of recent. She really does appreciates his efforts. She leans against him then, wanting for the comfort again, and maybe for the both of them. Jack really is a good friend, but there's the empty bit she feels that _he_ needs to be here.

She wants to share this with him, the Time-Lord-or-not. Maybe they'll take a walk soon, or rather, convince him to come out with her and face the world.

Central Park is good enough to face for now. She just hopes they get to before winter comes.

That night, she goes to bed, and for now, the dreaming will have to be enough.

_In Another Apartment..._

After shrugging on his coat, John Smith's out the door and getting on the lift. He's an impatient man, after all, so he's about to press the 'close door' button when he hears a woman calling for him to hold the lift.

His mind is sort of a jumble with the influx of new information.

In jogs a young woman with a pretty face and shoulder-length blonde hair with the brown roots showing. It's his nearly-new neighbor. She's a good deal shorter than him, about a head's height or so, and she looks up to him smiling like he's just made her morning brighter by existing and he can't stop himself from smiling right back at her.

"Thanks mate!" She's cheerful and he tells her it's no problem, because now he's glad he didn't press the button.

Four flights down, the lift is too quiet and he wants to know more about her.

"Where're you are off to then?"

"Oh just down to the grocers- odds and ends and all that. What about yourself?"

"I'm off to there myself, on a banana run."

"Banana run? Just bananas?"

He became a bit indignant then, "And just what's wrong with bananas?"

"Nothing, bananas are good," she said with a suppressed smile, "you've just got to eat more than that. C'mon, you'll come shopping with me."

-This is a Line Break-

He gets lost in that grocery, loses track of where his feet take him and suddenly he's facing the butcher with her. Lost in her.

Her name's Rose Tyler, he finds out. She's quiet about most things when he asks, reluctant to give away information and he can't help nattering on endlessly. They talk about the history of the fruit and where her food comes from.

"Really, Rose, you should think twice about buying that stuff. It's not environmentally conscious, as good for you as some good ol' monosaccarides, or half as appealing as edible ball bearings." She stiffens when he stops talking and he starts backtracking instantly.

"I mean, other confectionary goods are just as appealing, but really, the carbon footprint you're leaving weighs out the benefits of taste. For instance, there's some cane sugar over here, and you'll be much better off with this, rather than that stuff you're grabbing." He pauses for a moment.

"Am I being rude again?"

She looks up out of the corner of her eye and her lips pressed together holding back a smile.

"Yeah."

"Oh."

Peals of laughter burst then and he's self-conscious about what he said.

"What? What?"

Her laughter continues and she squeaks out, "Your face!"

He thinks that he likes his face, may be a bit pretty, but nothing laugh-worthy in his mind.

He harrumphs and pretends to be fed up with her, and not at all wanting to kiss that laughter away. Despite that fact that her voice was lovely. He doesn't like her laughter as much directed at him.

That's a lie.

It's later that afternoon that they're walking back together. He's carrying her bags for her because he can, thank-you-very-much and who said chivalry's dead?

He knows she's at least a bit cold from the way she tugs the light jacket around her, tighter, and her cheeks are rosy from the cool breeze. He's more than covered with his the layers of clothes he tends to wear, the tee-shirt, the button down and two piece suit. He's left his jacket in his apartment and he can't help but regret it because he'd have given it to her for now. Not for his benefit.

Nope.

-This is a Line Break-

John Smith's hands were numb. Dead fingers rested comatose on the smooth backlit keyboard of his computer.

_Maybe it'll come to him._

New un-creaking wooden floorboards beneath his feet, he gets up and goes over to his new favorite window. It's still as beautiful as the days prior had been, and the rain that's coming down in bucketfuls makes the colors seem to stand out even more so. This is why he loves traveling- the new places, new colors, new experiences- for all the things he feels.

He wants to experience it, properly live it.

Or at least, that's what he's attempting explain to Rose when he sees her in the hallway- carrying his shoes in one hand and running his fingers through his soaked hair with the other, way in the wee hours of the morning- why he was barefoot in the rain. It was a kind of spur of the moment thing, he reasons.

She smiles at him, and it's more than just a smile, because there's a sweet side to it, like the sparkle in her eye and walking into a nostalgia shop to relive the best. It makes him feel unusually revered. It's a quelling to his typical thought pattern and he just wants to go and live that with her, he thinks.

"Fancy a walk in the rain?"

As soon as the question tumbles out of his mouth, she's taking off her shoes and socks. She's grinning at him like mad, her acquiescence making his heart race. His hand takes it's own accord and wiggles fingers in her direction and he really does want her hand to hold.

The door man is beginning to get used to John Smiths' oddities, but when he sees the duo run outside, hand-in-hand and grinning, he begins to wonder the differences between eccentric and psychotic.

-Another Line Break-

The rain's slowing down and it's cooler now, autumn suddenly in full effect, when they're wandering through central park. There are a few people not unlike themselves who were either caught in the rain or walking in it, mostly stragglers, who keep giving them odd looks.

"Now, I can't even fathom why a nice girl like you is bothering to keep up with me. Don't you know, Rose Tyler? I'm mad as a hatter." It's half truths, and he wants to play the cards close to his chest, but he's already enamored with her and things just keep spilling out whether he wants them to or not. They're still barefooted and holding hands and he's on top of the world. It's not like with old flames, or it doesn't feel like it, and he's reveling in the feeling.

"No reason to put yourself down. You're..." she paused briefly, tapping her chin with her finger pointedly, playfully, "unconventional." She settled on the word. It did fit it him, human or not. "I like that about you." She stated carefully, while it was true, 'like' wasn't nearly adequate. But he didn't really need to know that right now.

He bumped his shoulder into hers with a grin. _Too familiar._

"Rose, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

"Don't do that."

"What? My Humphrey Bogart is stupendous. I have a darn good 'merican accent!"

"No really, don't."

He did eventually stop, but only to hear her laugh.

/ A review will not only solve world hunger, you'll also get a preview of the next chapter.

Really.\\\\

Anyone looking for a beta opportunity? I'd really like to have someone to double check this from now on, feedback and all that. PM me if you're interested!


	3. Moving Along

A/n: gosh sorry about hte slow updates I can't guarantee consistent updates, but I plan to update this frequently and be done by the end of the year! I'm also working on a bunch of other things right now so there's that

hope you enjoy and don't mind reviewing and try not to lynch me, thanks:

Jack and Rose collapse into a fit of giggles when they walk in late to the complex. The doorman shoots them a look as they walk in as quietly as possible, using each other for support.

Rose is leaning against Jack and he's not doing much better about holding his liqour (hyper vodkas or not, he isn't immune to high proof liquor).

Wandering around the city had turned into going to the most interesting nightclubs, which quickly turned into challenging whose body could withstand the most abuse. They both realise that neither of them won, but it's clear that the last round wasn't really necessary. They're slurring a bit and can't really control what's spewing out of their mouths.

At three in the morning, John jumps, startled out of bed and dashes blindly for a scrap of paper and a pen, and writes out his dream. The vividness took his breath away, but the most prominent thing he can remember is holding a hand. He hopes that doesn't really mean anything.

Suddenly, the quiet around him is disrupted, and he hears the sound of drunken laughter in the hall. His curiosity gets the better of him instantly or maybe the tiredness he feels is getting to his head, but he opens up his apartment door anyway. He hears her well before he sees her.

"Oh _please_. Like you've never seen a girl drunk b'fore."

It's Rose Tyler, _again_. The girl turns up like a bad penny, or a good luck charm, he can't remember right now which one's most frequent because he's still sort of taken back by the scene playing out in front of him as Rose and her roommate stumble down the hall.

"Oh, now see? That's just not fair, Jack! He stands there, all sexy and ruffled, and I have'ta pretend like I don't care."

_What?_

"R-Rose?" He stutters. She's clearly had a bit too much, but he thought it had all been on his part, the fancying that is, and he's really struck dumb.

"Oh, c'mere."

She walks over towards him quickly, stopping short when her hands find his shoulders and skim up towards his hair. He thinks he should've expected this, from her statements, moments prior, but he's too shocked to move yet.

Any words he thought of speaking halt in his mind.

He's being pulled down, yanked by the roots almost aggressively, and he thinks that this is the moment he was waiting for, that now things really will change. And they do.

Her lips smash against his and it's rough and sudden (even if time seems to slow around them, or at least he thinks it does) and then he's kissing her back. Out of control, hazy, confusing, _finally_, and wonderful are just a few of the words that come to mind all this time.

Maybe he's still dreaming.

Her teeth nip at his lip. And he thinks he hears a far off voice asking 'why they don't get any of that', which, while confusing in itself, reminds him he really isn't dreaming.

And then he's responding in kind, eager, and willing. She's so...

Not there. This isn't what he wanted, not really. _Well_. Mostly. If, it's even Rose thinking at the moment. He can taste the fruity drinks on her tongue, the remanence of liquor. _What if she regrets this?_

It's just that thought that makes him freeze in his tracks, suddenly fully aware that he's really and truly groping her bum and her fingernails scratching down from the nape of his neck to his back isn't quite as electrifying anymore.

Pulling away, "_Rose._" He's taking deep calming breaths or their equivalent, pulling his hands away. He still feels her though, kissing along his neck and jaw, dizzying.

"Please-" he's actually trying to make a valid argument but his breath hitches and he's losing focus on why he was going to tell her no and maybe this isn't such a bad idea after all-"Rose," he gasps,"we need to stop."

She pulls back, barely, only to look up at him and pout. _Oh_...

"Why? Don't you want me?" She's being an entirely new kind of playful, and he feels her breath against his neck and ear and oh her hands are wandering and he's lost in her all over again, tri-fold.

He's stern, now. "_Stop._" His teeth are grinding and he's serious. He holds her back at arms length, and nearly every inch of him is yelling.

Her pout's gone now- it's a sort of confused blank. His mind supplies drunk again.

"Right, c'mon I'll get you home. And hydrated." His words are rushed as he turns her around and keeps his hands squarely on her shoulders, pushing her forwards.

"_Oi_! Just because I had a bit doesn't mean I don't know when I'm not wanted. I'll take care of myself, thanks." The slur is nearly gone and her words are bitter and solidly angry.

She tries shaking him off, pulling away, and he finds he can't seem to do anything right.

He pulls her into a tight hug, arms enveloping her entirely. He's disgusted with himself- scared to death he's going to properly scare away, certainly now- and he just wants things to go back, so maybe he'd get up the courage to ask her out, let things progress naturally.

And they'd be happy. Just like that.

It doesn't stop him from burying his nose into her hair, clutching her.

"Oh Rose, please, I-I just," whispering and he's tripping over words again, a new level of terrified, "I don't think this is the best idea. We can... talk in the morning?" It's a question because he's suddenly desperate for her confirmation. He wants this, really, but he _needs_ to know she wants this too.

He hears something along the lines of a muttered _bloody idiot, yes_, and something like _not even when he's human_, makes no sense to him. But she's not running now, and he thinks maybe, that's enough.

He sees her go straight to her roommate's arms, something in itself that makes him uncomfortable. There's a knot forming in the pit of his stomach at the sight. He's seen this guy once or twice and he doesn't know what to think of him or his intentions. He tries to brush of the _not-jealousy_, and waits until he sees them opening their door together until he closes it fast.

It's later that same, very early morning, while he's slumped in his seat and _thinking_, that he decides his new book needs to be scrapped.

He tells himself it wasn't going anywhere anyway.

A/N: gosh, this was short I'm so sorryuhg please forgive I've got about half of the next chapter written but it didn't feel _right_ putting it in with this so that'll hopefully be up soon.


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